Harvie Monafique
by Wednesday blues
Summary: Luna is not herself. She has not been herself for 6 years now. Until she met Rolf.


Disclaimer: All credit goes to JK Rowling for creating the marvelous Harry Potter universe

**Luna**

Luna got into the pub, managing to slip in without anyone seeing her.

"Accio firewhiskey," she said and summoned two bottles towards her. the men she had taken it from were too absorbed in in fingering the two girls with them. A strand of hair fell from her neatly tied bun and she tried to blow it off her face. She never understood how the girls in the muggle movies Hermione had introduced her to blew their hair off their faces so perfectly. Then again, maybe they just had really good hair.

Her attention went back to the rowdy group. One of the girls was in the middle of an orgasm. The man with her was wearing a pair of feathered glasses with strings of beads hanging from them which dangled as he sucked the girl out.

She sighed. It had been 10 years since the Battle of Hogwarts, since she had lost her father, since she had lost_ Dean._ Dean had survived the battle only to be hit by a car a month after. Such a common, ordinary death for such an extraordinary, courageous man. That day, in a brightly lit room at St. Mungo's she had made the decision to leave. To leave, to forsake who she was. To become a new person. No more _The Quibbler_ and fucking wrack spurts. The old Luna was buried under the ground with her father and dean and the so called friends who didn't particularly seem to want her. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had retreated into their own cozy, private circle taking Ginny with them who clung to Harry's side. Neville dangled on the edge of hope as he watched his parents slowly recover after Bellatrix's death. But her? She had no one.

She was in the middle of drinking her third bottle when she felt someone next to her. She looked sideways. It was the man from before, the one wearing the glasses which had looked vaguely familiar. He asked her laughingly, "You do realize this is a nude bar, don't you?"

"Of course I did," she said primly even though she was half wasted.

"Do you need help getting naked then?" he asked her with a cheeky grin.

"Well, why not?" she said on a whim and let him take her clothes off one by one.

**Rolf**

She was extremely pretty. Her nipples pointing straight ahead as they walked toward the bar, her large ass jiggling.

He couldn't seem to decide whether he should take the glasses off or not. In the end, he kept them on. Contrary to what she and many other people were thinking, he was not drunk. He had been watching her ever since she had come in, looking so out of place in her dark blue blazer and pencil skirt. He had seen her accio the bottles of firewhiskey off the table but he hadn't said a word. She had probably needed it more than him.

"What is your name?" he asked in an attempt to make conversation.

"Luna. Would you mind telling me where you got your glasses from?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Got them for free with the _Quibbler," _he said and her expression changed for a fleeting moment but returned to her seductive smile quickly as she took the glasses off and put them on her face. She took a deep breath as she leaned towards him. She smelled like vanilla and a hint of sweat from sitting with those hot clothed on in the steaming tavern for a long time.

"By the way, I am Rolf," he blurted out suddenly to prevent the silence from growing any more awkward.

"I realized."

"How?" he asked in befuddlement.

"It's amazingly simple when the girl you were fingering yells your name out for everyone in the vicinity to hear," she said, her lips twitching.

"What if I told you my name was John?"

"I wouldn't believe it. You don't look much like a John anyway," she said and took a great gulp of firewhiskey.

Her bosom heaved and she suddenly burst into laughter and her breasts were jiggling way too much for my poor dick to handle.

"I know legilimency. And bosom is a great word," she said.

**Luna**

He didn't even look abashed when he had realized that she knew what he had been thinking about her boobs. Instead, he leaned forward and said,

" There's something very kinky about old lady boobs, isn't there?"

"So you are admitting that you have an old lady fetish then?"

"It depends. Are you older than I am?" he said with a smirk.

"I am 27. What about you?"

"I am all of 30," he said, stretching leisurely with his hands in front of him.

"Well, that's disappointing. Especially when my breasts really need some… damn it! I have forgotten the word!" All thoughts of tweaking her nipple and batting her eyelashes left her head in horror at her disastrous attempt at seducing him.


End file.
